You Think You're Mad (Too Unstable)
by TheResurrectionist
Summary: Dean calls a suicide hotline. Dark AU. Caring!Sam Rated M for mature themes.


A/N Before you read this, I wanted to make a general disclaimer. Suicide is no laughing matter, and if anyone has any problems, a help line is something indescribably helpful, and severely underestimated. Please call if you're having thoughts of suicide, or if you know someone who is: /

A/N2 Now, enough of that. If you're into dark fics, run along over to "Freefall" on my stories page. Yes, I went there. Alright! Story time!

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In Sam's profession, you could never be quite sure who you answered the phone to.

It was a given, sure, that a suicide helpline would always keep you on your toes. Sam understood that. No matter what situation, though, he always tried his best with every caller, listening to them for hours sometimes.

He would think about the callers afterwards for weeks, sometimes even months. Every time he picked up the phone, there was that large question mark, screaming at him quietly, "Who is it this time?" Because he couldn't help everyone, and part of him knew that one of these days one of his callers wouldn't.

But part of him hoped every time the phone rang. Hoped that he could help them.

The phone rang shrilly, flashing red light on the side bleeping madly. Sam took a breath, ignoring the voice, and picked up the phone.

"National Suicide Hotline, this is Sam." He said.

"Uhh…." A male voice said. " Damn, I was kinda expecting a chick."

So, a guy then.

"Can I help you?"

"It's kind of silly that I'm calling…"

"We're here to help, sir. In any way possible. Can I ask what your name is?"

"Dean." A shuffle. "My name is Dean."

"Hi Dean." Sam said peaceably. "My name is Sam. Can I ask why you called today?"

"Well, ummm…." His tone turned a little irritated. "Actually, I'm not sure I should've called."

Sam spoke quickly, following directions. "Are you thinking about killing yourself, Dean?"

Silence.

"Dean?" Sam asked, worried. "Are you there?"

"Yeah." Finally came after a few seconds. "I'm here."

Dean's voice went deeper, and Sam could hear the tears in his gruff voice.

"I'm actually halfway down that highway already, Sammy." He said.

Sam took a deep breath, steeling himself. He'd never had someone call who was so close.

"Dean, do you have a weapon?" Sam asked quietly, flicking open his list of emergency numbers.

"Yeah, a twelve gauge." Dean said with dark humor.

"Are you planning on using it to end your life, Dean?"

A slightly wet laugh sounded over the phone line. "Well, what else was I gonna do with it?"

Sam frowned, holding the phone closer to his ear. "I'm sorry to hear that, Dean."

"Sorry?" Came Dean's voice. "Why would you be sorry?"

"No one should end their life, Dean."

"Yeah?" Dean asked. "You would if you were as fucked up as I am."

"Can you tell me why you feel this way, Dean?" Sam asked, reading from the script.

"Stop it with the touchy feely crap." Came Dean's bitter voice. "It sounds like you're reading a goddamn script. Aren't you supposed to help?"

Sam frowned, but flipped the script closed. His boss wouldn't be happy he was going off book, but honestly Sam got tired of the same halfway non-instigating questions.

"What's causing you to think about suicide, Dean?" Sam asked honestly, throwing the book in his desk drawer.

There was another pause, which for some reason made Sam's heart beat a little faster.

"Ah, my Dad." Came Dean's voice uncertainly over the phone.

"He's been getting worse lately."

Worse? "What do you mean by that?" Sam asked.

"My Dad, you gotta understand, he's not bad, he's just…"

He seemed to be searching for an answer.

"Misunderstood?" Sam filled in, grim smile on his face as he thought about his own Dad.

"Yeah." Dean's voice muttered gratefully. "Me and my brother, we had a tough childhood." He said tentatively, like Sam might hang up. "..He wasn't the best dad."

Sam nodded, then realized Dean couldn't see him. "Yeah, I get that. What was your brother's name?" He asked, hoping he could help Dean.

"Adam. His name was Adam."

Was? Sam's thought, but didn't voice it.

"Go on about your dad." He said, taking off his sweatshirt. God, it was hot in this tiny office.

There was a deep breath. "My Mom died when I was little, and he was never really the same. He started drinking." A vicious tone came into his voice. "He hit me." He admitted, and Sam gave a low hiss of disapproval.

"He wasn't always like that!" Dean's voice came over furious, suddenly.

"Sorry." Sam said quickly, trying not to make Dean angry. "Go on."

Why was he being so protective of this guy? He sounded like a real bastard to Sam.

"He kept hitting me, but only when he had too many, ya know?" He asked brokenly.

"Yeah." Sam paused.

"How seriously did he hurt you?" He asked, trying to work slowly at Dean's problem. Sam could talk for hours, he knew, but Dean probably didn't have that long.

It was a scary thought, and not one Sam wanted to have.

"Put me in the hospital a few times. Broken ribs, a couple broken noses too. Nothing terrible. He never touched Adam, though."

Sam tilted his head curiously. "Why not?"

"I never let him." Dean said seriously, with such conviction that Sam shuddered a little at his tone.

"Could you have stopped him if he tried?" Sam asked.

Another pause. "I tried, once." Dean said simply, sounding defeated, a huge difference from the sharp tone he'd used seconds before. "I was too late."

"Is that why you called?" Asked Sam curiously, and then smacked himself mentally as he realized that was probably the least-subtle question he could ask.

"Wow, Sammy, you really pulled out all the stops out there, huh?" Dean said sarcastically, but took a breath and went on.

"I called because I buried my baby brother today." Came his broken voice.

"I buried Adam today, and-" Dean broke off; quiet sobs reaching Sam's ears.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Said Sam, feeling wordless for the first time in years.

"He was only ten, you know." Dean stated, and shuffling around in the background could be heard.

Sam realized that Dean was still very "At-risk" As his textbooks called it. He'd been so lost in this man's story that he'd forgotten Dean had a gun (Or claimed to).

For some reason he believed him.

"Dean, did your father do this?" He asked carefully, knowing he was stepping on thin ice, but somehow hoping this was the right way. "Did he hurt Adam?"

Dean laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, that bastard killed Adam. But it was my fault he died."

"What?" Sam asked, surprised. "Why would you say something like that?"

Sam could hear the tears in Dean's voice again when he spoke.

"I wasn't there to protect him." He said simply.

Sam felt a wave of sadness at the guilt in Dean's voice, taking the phone away from his ear for a quick second.

"It wasn't your fault. You said your Dad killed Adam, so you couldn't have done anything." Sam pled.

"You're wrong! I could've done SOMETHING!" Dean yelled, voice sharp.

Sam stayed silent, listening to the heavy breathing on the other end of the line.

"I came home yesterday after running out for _five minutes_. I left Adam alone with him for five minutes, because a stupid part of me thought, 'Hey, what could go wrong in five minutes?'. And guess what? Something did go wrong."

A deep breath.

"I came home and Adam was laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. And….and that BASTARD was just standing there, smoking! Over my brother's body!" Dean said angrily, making Sam flinch in his chair. He had a bit of an idea what Dean was feeling right now.

"What did you do?" He asked.

"What would YOU do, Sammy?" Dean asked, and Sam realized he'd been calling him "Sammy" for a while now.

"I don't know what I would've done." He admitted after a second, playing with a pen as he heard Dean's awful laugh again, ringing across the telephone like a shriek.

"I froze, but he just stared at me with those god awful eyes of his and kept on smoking. SMOKING! Like everything was fine!"

A quick pause.

"I saw red. I unfroze and ran at him like a madman. I still don't know how I managed it, but I knocked the sonuvabitch out and called the cops." Dean breathed heavily.

"I got the coroner's report after he was in jail for a few days. They said Adam died from a skull fracture."

"He confessed the next day." Sam heard. "He knocked the kid over cause he got in the way. Cause he wanted a drink, and Adam was in the way! Bounced his head off the metal table like a cantaloupe, the police said." He said bitterly.

Sam sighed, empathy going crazy. This poor man. Losing his brother to his father?

Terrible.

"So yeah, that's why I called. Because I buried my brother today. And I'm not feeling totally hunky dory today!"

Sam took a breath. His turn. "I know you aren't. When people lose their loved ones, suicide is one of the first things they turn to. This is NORMAL, Dean."

"Don't tell me everyone commits suicide." Dean said angrily. "Don't make me a statistic." He said coldly, voice chilling Sam to the bone. "You think I called to chat? I'm serious!" Dean shouted, and the sound of a glass shattering in the background could be heard.

"I know!" Sam shouted back. "You don't think we've all lost someone, Dean? You don't think I haven't been where you are right now?" Sam shouted back, losing control for a second.

Thank God the office was empty.

Dean was silent for a second.

"You…?"

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "About a year ago."

Dean's voice sounded shocked. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" Laughed Sam bitterly. "Look at yourself. We've all lost someone."

Sam took a deep breath. "My brother, he killed himself about, hell, a year ago this month. And I did what you did." He took a breath, and why did it seem like all he was doing was breathing deep? Oh yeah, to stay calm and all that crap.

He'd passed calm a while ago.

"And the week after his funeral, I did the same thing like you. I had argued with my parents all night, about something stupid. Then, I put a knife against my wrist. I was ready to end it, because I couldn't deal with it, you know?"

Dean was silent, but Sam could hear him breathing.

"I had doubts, though I knew I was gonna go through with it. But I called a hotline. You wanna know why?"

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Cause I didn't want my last conversation on earth to be a fight. I didn't want my last memory of my life to be something so bad."

"So I called in. A nice guy talked to me, got me to go through it all with him, until I knew it wasn't my fault. And I broke down. I put the knife down and listened to him. And here I am today, Dean."

He paused.

"I'm not whole, Dean. But I'm here."

Dean sounded humble when he spoke again. "How did you get over it?" He asked tentatively.

"I didn't." Sam chuckled. "But I knew if I could stop someone else from ending their life, I would feel better about living."

Dean was silent again, but Sam had grown to recognize them as thoughtful pauses.

"You know most helpline operators are people who've been affected by suicide?" He asked Dean.

"No." Dean replied.

"Yeah." Sam said. "And I'm not trying to be all Disney here, but there's hope, Dean. There's always something for you."

Dean didn't sound convinced.

"How can you be so sure?" He asked painfully, and Sam could almost see the expression of pain in front of his own eyes.

"I just am." Sam said simply, praying Dean would listen. How long had they been on the phone? Was it only a few minutes?

"I can't believe that, Sammy." Dean said after another pause. "I just don't think I can live with this guilt."

"You can." Sam said desperately, and goddamn if it didn't sound like a Grey's Anatomy skit. "You can, Dean. Don't do this. Please."

Sam was so far off book now it wasn't even funny. He wouldn't be surprised if he got fired over this call.

"I'm going to see Adam, Sam."

Sam's eyes widened at the conviction in his voice.

"Dean, no. Stay with me. Please, put the gun down."

Dean laughed. "How'd ya know I even picked it up yet, Sammy?"

Sam clenched his fists, anger bubbling up.

"It doesn't matter, Dean. Why don't you just give me your address?" He asked, reverting to the book's simple questions. Somehow, he knew it wouldn't work.

"No. You'll just stop me." Dean said, and Sam's heart stopped when he heard the sound of a safety clicking off in the background.

"Dean." Sam said painfully, praying this was a joke or something. Praying that this man wasn't going to kill himself with Sam on the phone.

"You've been a good listener, Sammy." Dean said softly, after a second.

Sam frantically pressed the trace button on his desk, alerting emergency services. He didn't have enough time, maybe if Dean just held on for a few more minutes….

"You're a good person. I'm sorry you couldn't help me."

Sam watched the computer monitor as he tried to locate Dean, grasping his head in his hands. God, this man knew he was going to kill himself the whole time, and Sam had just listened. He hadn't stopped him!

"You know," Dean began. "I called hoping for a hot chick to chat up before I….You know." Sam heard a popping sound. "But I think you were better. I like you, Sammy. You remind me of someone I think I should know."

"Dean." Sam pled, desperate. "Don't. Dean, please."

A grim laugh echoed again, and Sam knew this was it, knew it was the end like he knew he'd known this call would be different. Somehow, but still so true.

"I think I'm almost gonna miss you, Sammy." Dean said, and Sam heard the tears begin.

Sam closed his eyes but held the phone next to his ear, knowing it was too late.

"Sam…" Dean said softly.

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam asked, tears running down his own face.

"Sam, I'm sorry."

The phone went dead.

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A/N Am I evil enough to ask for a review? TBC? *quirks eyebrow*


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